


The Valar's Purpose

by queenmidalah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Changing Destiny, F/F, F/M, M/M, The Valar, When the Valar interfere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8463730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmidalah/pseuds/queenmidalah
Summary: The Valar rarely interfere in the affairs of Middle Earth, but when they do it is something worth heeding. Four individuals are believed to be dead, but they were not returned to the halls of waiting. Some have been waiting centuries to know why, others a short eight years. As the Battle of the Five Armies wages on, the Valar reveal their true purpose. To change the fate of Middle Earth. Forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been sitting in my head since about three or so months after BOFA came out. I finally was able to get more than a few sentences down. I will only be sporadically updating this, and my other 'fics, during the month of November (if I am even able to update them at all), as I am focusing on the second book of my original work during NaNoWriMo, but I wanted to get this first part posted to see reactions to it.

In a gleaming tower, eight people stood around a wide bowl filled with a calm water that shimmered to show them the entirety of their creation. They were the greatest of their kind, the Aratar. Four others stood off to the side, two pacing in agitation, one wringing her hands, and the fourth standing with the grace and calmness of her race.

“You kept us for a reason, yet you will not return us,” the dwarf with blonde hair and sharp brown eyes growled at the eight beings. “What was the point?!”

“Patience, dwarf,” Ulmo said, his voice laced with amusement. The amusement did not sit well with the dwarrow.

“Patience is in short order when my sons are in danger!” he snapped.

“Your sons are not the only ones in danger,” the melodious voice of the elf maid said. She still looked as calm as before, but a closer look at her eyes showed an anxiousness within.

“I think,” the second dwarf said, putting a hand against the blonde’s chest when he started to advance on the elf. “We can all agree that we are anxious to know what the Valar have in mind for us since they did not allow any of us to return to the halls of waiting. Or whatever it is called for Elves and Men. And we can all agree that our anxiousness comes from the knowledge that we have those we love in danger in this moment.”

“The one who was the servant of one who was once one of our own is attempting to rise again,” Manwë said as he lifted his head from the water that had the rest transfixed. “It is rare for Ilúvatar to intercede in his creations, so we took heed when Aulë and I were informed that you four were specifically to not enter Mandos’ halls.”

“And you’ve never explained why that was,” the human woman said, stopping her pacing to look at the King of the Valar.

Varda, the Queen of Stars, lifted her head and smiled softly. “We explained enough at the time, Thyra of Gondor,” she said. “Vairë said that your threads were cut too soon.”

“That explains nothing,” the blonde dwarf snapped. He gestured to the other dwarf and himself. “We have been waiting here for 77 years, yet our kinsmen, Fundin, was not brought here as Frerin and I were.”

“I have been waiting for much longer,” the elf said.

“Answers are forthcoming,” Oromë said, glancing at Manwë.

“It is time,” Nienna spoke, still gazing into the water. “Their presence is needed most now to ensure that what was seen does not come to pass.”

Manwë and Aulë both nodded before walking over to the small group. “Your time is now,” Aulë said, his focus on the two dwarrows. “Melekor’s servant cannot regain his footing as he had before. Should the fall of the line of Durin come to pass, he will gain a foothold that will wrought the very foundation of life for all.”

“Guide your children,” Manwë said to the women. “For your son will prove to be amongst those most valuable in the final battle against Sauron, but he cannot allow his infatuation to overcome him. Teach him to love and to accept, things that your husband has not taught him since losing you.” The last he directed straight to the elf.

Aulë looked at the human woman. He reached for her hand, lifting the blonde dwarf’s. He pressed their palms together. “Look past your prejudices,” he said. “A son of Durin and a daughter of Girion will be another key in the intricate lock of this story.” His gaze focused on the woman. “Allow your youngest to seek out her heritage. Your brother will need his niece’s guidance and his sons will do well with her influence.”

“Keep these in the back of your minds,” Manwë said. “For now your focus is to see that this battle does not end as we foresaw. Thorin Oakenshield and his heirs are not meant to die this day.”

“How?” the other dwarrow asked.

“Protect your nephews, Frerin, son of Thráin,” Varda said. “Take Finn, son of Víli and ensure that Azog does not succeed in wiping out the line of Durin.”

“Oromë,” Manwë said. “Take Vanessë and Thyra to Dale. Aulë has already ensured entrance back to Arda for the dwarrow that will place them at Ravenhill.”

“May Ilúvatar protect you and guide you,” Varda said before the four beings disappeared.

## هدف سرنوشت

When Finn and Frerin were returned to Middle Earth, they were glad that they had been left with the weapons they would need as well. The two dwarrow immediately headed up the crest that would lead them to Ravenhill. Just as they were coming over the crest, they saw Azog dragging Fíli forward with Kíli on the ground below, Thorin and Dwalin further out where they had been separated.

“No,” Finn breathed out as he and Frerin moved closer. They both stopped as Azog dragged Fíli further and had him hanging over the edge of the cliff.

“We don’t have time,” Frerin said, setting a pack down and pulling the bow strapped across his chest off and pulling an arrow from the quiver.

Finn was practically vibrating as he watched his eldest son being dangled over the edge of the cliff by Azog. The Valar could not have possibly dropped them on Ravenhill, alive, only for him to watch his son die at the hands of that orc. Not when they had specifically said that the deaths were not meant to be.

“Frerin,” Finn growled.

“Got it,” Frerin said. Finn heard the draw of a bow string, glancing at his marriage-brother. Two arrows were knocked in his bow, ready to fly. A beat later, Frerin released them towards Azog as he drew back the arm with the blade attached. A roar escaped Azog as the arrows found their marks in his upper left shoulder and through his right wrist, causing him to release Fíli.

Finn cursed in Khuzdul, but Frerin gripped his shoulder. “He’s smart and agile,” the prince said. “Keep your wits about you and open. We don’t need to die again before we save them.”

Finn took a steadying breath, his eyes hardening. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling his swords from their sheaths.

## هدف سرنوشت

Fíli had the quick thought to grasp for the edge of the rock, easily scaling down along the rough edges. While the pace was jarring, fast, and probably very painful, his quick thinking kept the drop from being fatal. His right hand had a deep slice, but it would keep until this was all said and done. He quickly stripped off a piece of fabric from his undertunic to bind the wound.

“Fíli!” 

The blonde turned to see his brother rushing towards him. The two embraced quickly before Fíli took the extra sword Kíli was handing him. “Nice shot.”

“I didn’t shoot those arrows,” Kíli said.

Fíli frowned. “Then who did?”

“Something to contemplate later, once we take care of the orc filth,” Kíli said, his tone hardening as he looked to the tower once more. He turned his head when he heard his uncle calling their names as he raced towards them.

“You’re alive,” Thorin breathed out, grasping Fíli’s head. He pressed their foreheads together before looking at Kíli. “That shot was good, sister-son. As good as any your uncle Frerin could have shot.”

“Uncle, as I told Fíli, I didn’t shoot those arrows,” Kíli said. "I don't even have a bow to shoot _with_."

“Then wh--,” Thorin’s words were cut off when the sound of orcs approaching reached his ears.

“As Kíli said before you arrived, something to contemplate once we take care of the orc filth,” Fíli said, twirling the sword he had taken from Kíli.

“Agreed,” Thorin said. “We fight.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thyra and Vanessë return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am dealing with horrible writer's block, but I am trying to make myself work on all of my stories in all my fandoms if I can to try and get things updated to see if I can snap myself out of it.

As the portal opened and Thyra stepped through beside Vanessë, Oromë was only just behind them. Both women looked around the remains of the once thriving city and the new destruction being wrought. 

“Here is where I leave you,” Oromë said. The one known as the huntsman of the Valar looked to the destruction he was leaving the women in. His jaw tightened, but he bowed to the two women. “May you go with the speed of the Valar.” Before either could comment, he was gone.

“That seems so odd to hear coming from the lips of a Valar,” Thyra commented. A soft, amused huff generated from near her. The human woman looked at the elf maid with a bit of surprise. She wasn’t aware that elves could show amusement.

“We should separate,” Thyra finally said. “Find our families.” Her head snapped around, eyes looking towards the direction of the city square when she heard a familiar voice calling the names of her son and daughter, telling them to get down. Looking around, she saw an abandoned blade from a fallen human soldier. She raced over to lift it when she was stopped by Vanessë. She glanced at the elf, who was handing her the handle of an elven blade from a fallen elf soldier.

“The weight is much lighter and easier for a human female’s hand to wield,” she explained. “It will suit the style you have learned from myself and the dwarrow.” Thyra nodded to her and turned to go.

“ _Mellon_ ,” Vanessë called out. Thyra paused once more, looking back at her. She nodded her dark head towards the woman. “Be safe, _mellon_. But show them the fiery temper of a Gondorian woman bent on protecting her children.”

Thyra’s mouth turned up at the corner. “I am not sure how fierce elves are about their children, but I have the same sentiment for you. Give them hell, Vanessë,” she said. Grabbing another elven blade, Vanessë reached out and tapped her blade to Thyra’s. The two women nodded, their jaws tightening before they separated to find their respective families.

## هدف سرنوشت

Thyra was careful as she made her way through the carnage that Dale was becoming once more. She avoided crowds that ran past her, still gaining speed to get to the square where she had heard Bard’s voice. Even as she rounded the corner and saw the large ogre that was lying dead.

“Listen,” she hear Bard say. “I need you to gather the women and children. Get them to the great hall and barricade the door.” He was talking to their son. “Do you understand? Do not come out for any reason.”

“We want to stay with you!” Her little Tilda.

“Show your father some respect.” Thyra saw red as she heard that slimy voice speaking to her child. She turned the corner just as Alfrid grabbed her baby girl’s arm and drug her forward. “Leave it to me sire. You ‘eard ‘im, make to the great hall!”

“You touch my child again and you won’t have a hand to think of even wanking off with,” she growled. Everyone spun to her, shock clearly written on their faces. Except Tilda, who simply looked confused, as if she should know who this person was and yet didn’t.

“Thyra,” Bard breathed out. “This is some trick…”

Thyra didn’t respond right away, striding over to Alfrid. Lifting her arm, she let the fire Vanessë had mentioned show through when she shoved her fist into Alfrid’s face. The oily man yelped in pain, scrambling backwards, his hands coming to cover his bleeding nose.

“I tink you bwoke it,” he whined.

“I should do more than that you filthy piece of garbage,” Thyra sneered. “For all I saw you do to them over the years as I Waited. Be thankful the Valar had another purpose for me, or I would have persuaded them to allow me to return much sooner for everything you and that bloody Master put my family through!”

“You stupid bit--,” he started to say until he found Thyra’s sword at his throat.

“Leave, Alfrid Lickspittle,” Thyra said, her tone falling from hot anger into cold danger. “Leave Dale now. If you survive getting through orcs, ogres, and goblins, never return here. For if you do, I will not hold back what I want to do to you for the agony you brought on my family. I will not tell you twice.”

Showing the cowardice they all knew he had, Alfrid scrambled to his feet and fled from the demoness. It was the only thing he could call her, because Thyra Bowman had died giving birth to her youngest child.

Thyra watched Alfrid scurry away before she turned to face her family. Poor Tilda still looked confused, while Bard, Sigrid, and Bain all had a mixture of disbelief and shock on their faces. Bard was the first to step forward, thought those steps were hesitant. He stopped just before his wife, his hand lifting but not yet touching her face.

“Mam?” Sigrid whispered, even as her father stood stock still once pausing in front of Thyra.

Thyra looked into Bard’s eyes, tears forming. She offered her husband a shaky smile, but her words were directed at Sigrid. “It’s me, my thrushling,” she whispered. Bard’s breath caught, escaping a moment later in a shaky rasp.

“ _Annwyl_?” he whispered. He gasped shakily when Thyra turned her head to let his fingers brush along her cheek.

“Aye, _fy nghariad_ ,” she whispered. “It’s truly me.”

“Mam!” Bain finally said, hurrying over and throwing his arms around his mother. Sigrid and Tilda both still hesitated. Tilda for her uncertainty, Sigrid for her cautiousness and protective nature towards her baby sister.

“Oh Bain,” Thyra said. “My darling!”

“How?” Bard questioned. “How is this--?”

“I will explain everything, but later,” Thyra said. She shifted her scimitar to her left hand. “For now, there is still a war to be fought. You must lead our people, _fy nghariad_. I will take our children to the great hall.”

“You’ll keep them safe?” Bard asked.

Thyra merely smiled. “Of course I will.” She reached up and stroked her husband’s cheek. “I will explain how I am alive once this cursed battle has been won.”

“Will it be?” Sigrid couldn’t help but ask. “How can you know?”

“Let’s just say I have some unique insight,” Thyra commented. “Come, my darlings. Let us get to safety. Your father has a war to win.”

Bard watched his children walk away with the love of his life. He hoped he wasn’t dreaming, but Thyra had one thing right. He had a war to win.

## هدف سرنوشت

The amount of Elven bodies was distressing to Vanessë as she walked through the streets of Dale. Her ears were alerted to the horn being blown, she knew that horn. Thranduil was recalling the company of Elves that had been assisting in the battle. Considering she could still hear the battle waging on, she knew that he was fleeing once more back to the confines of the woods. It saddened her to know that her husband had fallen so far.

“ _You will go no further,_ ” she heard an angry female voice say in their tongue before slipping into Westron. “You will not turn away. Not this time.”

Vanessë turned a corner to see a flame-haired Sindarin elf in green leathers facing her husband in full armor. She recognized the young maid she had so often seen when the Valar showed the four people they had kept their kin. This is the one that Legolas believed himself to love, though she knew this one belonged with the youngest of Finn’s sons. This was the one her husband had fostered after her parents were killed and made Captain of his guard. Watching her face off against her imposing husband, she could see why she rose in the ranks as she had. Vanessë wanted to know this elf.

“Get out of my way,” Thranduil all but snarled. It was a sound that was unfamiliar to Vanessë’s ears.

“The dwarves will be slaughtered,” Tauriel said.

“Yes,” Thranduil said in a condescending tone. “They will die. Today, tomorrow, one year hence, a hundred years from now, what does it matter. They are mortal.” He had moved closer to Tauriel. Vanessë stiffened when she saw the elf-maid quickly draw an arrow from her quiver and had it nocked to fire at Thranduil. She saw the other elves make no move yet.

“You think your life is worth more than theirs when there is no love in it,” Tauriel snapped. “There is no love in you.”

Vanessë’s breath caught. Her jaw tightened as Thranduil lashed out, his sword cleaving the elf’s bow in two before he had the tip at the base of her throat.

“What do you know of love?” Thranduil demanded. “Nothing. What you feel for that dwarf is not real. You think it is love? Are you ready to die for it?”

 _*Manwë, no. Thranduil…*_ Vanessë thought. Her heart jumped into her throat when the light clash of blades sounded and she saw her beloved son facing off with his father. His words chilled her.

“ _If you harm her, you will have to kill me,_ ” Legolas said. She could not see her husband’s face, but she knew the idea would destroy him. He had lost so much- his father, her. To lose Legolas…

She saw her son turn away and speak to the maid. “I will go with you,” he said. The two turned away from Thranduil and headed off. She watched Thranduil make a small motion with his hand and the other elves retreated, leaving him alone. 

“Captain,” Thranduil called before they disappeared. She saw the one he spoke to pause. “Return to defense. We…” He simply waved his hand and the elves bowed before heading off, leaving Thranduil to his thoughts.

“It pains me to say this, but she was not wrong.”

Thranduil spun, his scimitar out and pointed at the obvious hallucination. There was no other explanation for his wife walking towards him in that moment. “It has finally happened,” he murmured. “Manwë has chosen to torture me and drive me to insanity.”

Vanessë tilted her head, offering her husband a sad smile. “Nay, _melamin_ ,” she said. “Manwë is not torturing you. I am truly standing before you.”

“How?” Thranduil demanded. “And why now?!”

“Because of this,” she said, sweeping her arm to gesture to the battle. “Too many things originally were to happen at this battle, creating turning points that were never meant to be. That would tip the scales, as it were.”

She turned her focus on Thranduil. “Yet I wonder if the Valar should have returned me to a time when you were not so… heartless,” she said, pain lacing her words to say such to him.

“Heartless?” Thranduil whispered.

“I may have been gone, but I was made aware of all you have done since I have been gone,” Vanessë said. “How the compassion you once showed has dwindled to nothing in that time. Even our son wishes not to be in your presence for long periods. The father he so desperately wanted to emulate has morphed into something and someone he does not recognize. Nor do I.”

“I remained here for him,” Thranduil hissed. “If not for him, I would have faded after I lost you.”

“But you did,” Vanessë said. “You may rule your kingdom, breathe, walk, eat, and drink, but the young… Tauriel I believe? She was right. There is no love in you.” She walked closer, resting her hand on his chest. Despite the armor, she knew where his heart should be within his breast. Yet the cool metal of the armor beneath her palm was how she saw things now.

“What is inside of you is as cool as the metal protecting you,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. Her son’s eyes. Legolas was every inch his father, except his eyes. Those came from Vanessë. “Where there was once a strong love, an overpowering love, there is now… nothing.”

Thranduil moved his hand to curl gloved fingers around Vanessë’s fingers. “I--,” he started. “Losing you…”

“I know,” Vanessë said. “I have seen many an elf fade from losing their heart’s song. But _melamin_ our son needed you, our people needed a fair ruler. They needed a ruler that your father was even after losing your mother. A ruler that would face death, even if it meant his own, to protect his people.”

“Against Sauron,” Thranduil reminded her.

Vanessë looked around at the carnage before looking at her husband. “And does this not reek of that taint once more?” she asked. “I know that Mithrandir hinted at this when he came to you and Bard of Dale in hopes to avoid the confrontation with Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thranduil scoffed. “Mithrandir has always been--,” he started.

“Correct in some way,” Vanessë said. “I saw you give word to your new captain to return to battle. Thranduil, you must join them. You must help Oakenshield.”

“Help that dw--,” Thranduil started.

“You owe him!” Vanessë snapped. “Your greed and Thror’s greed caused the rift between your people and Thorin’s! You turned away from their need when Smaug first came.”

He tried to yank his hand from hers, but he held firm and he looked at her with surprised eyes. He knew she was strong, had even enjoyed her strength when she often had taken what she wanted from him in private. Yet to show her strength now, in favor of those dwarves…

“If you cannot do it for Oakenshield, then do it for Legolas,” Vanessë said. “Our son has made his way to Ravenhill to help the dwarves. We will not abandon him or lose him because of your stubborn pride!”

Thranduil’s jaw tightened, but her words had the desired effect. Nodding he turned his head to look towards Ravenhill before he focused on his resurrected wife.

“To Ravenhill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally there was also supposed to be a scene after the battle, but this chapter with Thyra and Vanessë reuniting with their respective spouses (and kids in Thyra's case) got much longer than I anticipated so the start of things after the battle will begin in the next chapter.
> 
> Keep in mind, Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin are still unaware that Frerin and Finn are resurrected and Legolas (and therefore Tauriel) are not aware of Vanessë. The only family members that know of the resurrections are Thranduil for Vanessë and the "Bowmans" for Thyra.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more reunions are had...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block sucks.

“He’s dead,” Fíli said. “It’s finally over.”

“Aye,” Thorin said. “It is.” He winced from the wound he took to his shoulder, thankful for the quick thinking of his eldest nephew that kept it from being a killing blow.

“Thorin,” Dwalin called as he walked across the ice towards him. Thorin could see that a broken arrow was in his hand.

“What’s that?” Thorin questioned him.

“Judging by the break at the end, it’s one of the arrows that ended up in Azog and saved Fíli,” Dwalin said. There was a queer tone to his voice that had Thorin arching a brow at him. Dwalin handed him the arrow wordlessly.

Thorin paled as he took it. “It can’t be,” he whispered.

“Uncle?” Kíli asked.

“The fletching,” Thorin whispered, his fingers brushing against the feathers.

“What about them?” Fíli asked as Kíli said: “They are nicely done. Good air stability from the make.”

“Dwarven made too,” Dwalin said. “Only one dwarf ever made fletching like this.”

“Who?” Fíli asked with a frown. Archers amongst the dwarves was not that uncommon, but they were uncommon enough that it was easy to tell who the archer was by their arrows. Kíli’s fletching were often made with the feathers of a pheasant with the green cast from the black feathers of the ravens that gave them freely.

“My brother,” Thorin said. “This is Frerin’s fletching.”

Fíli frowned. “But… Uncle Frerin died at…”

“Azanulbizar,” Thorin said. “Same place your father was killed.”

“And we waited with the Valar to return and ensure that the line of Durin did not end this day,” Finn said from behind the four dwarves. All spun, swords at the ready as they pointed their blades at the two dwarrow that were walking towards them.

“What evil sorcery is this?” Thorin demanded, his tone hard and dangerous as he stared at what had to be apparitions.

“Not evil,” Frerin said. “But I suppose it is a type of sorcery. The Valar had a purpose. They showed us what would have come to pass if they had not interfered.”

“This is insane, you cannot possibly be alive!” Thorin said.

“I suppose you could run us through and finish what Azog and the orcs started all those years ago, but then I’ll let you explain to my beloved why you took away her second chance and in front of our sons,” Finn quipped, arching his eyebrow in such a way that it caught Thorin’s breath. He had always known how much Fíli looked like his father, but in that moment he knew he could be staring at how his nephew would be in a hundred years.

“Aulë… how?” Thorin questioned. He lowered his blade, his eyes shifting to stare at his brother. His brother not only in blood but in arms. Gods above and below, how often had he wished for Frerin to be at his side still? How often had he wished for his brother’s counsel, not to mention his teasing nature to break through the darkness that had surrounded him for so long?

“Well,” Frerin said, slinging his bow across his chest. “Aulë was partially responsible. Though I think we have Vairë to thank moreso. It is she who said our threads were cut too early and why Ilúvatar stepped in when he normally would not.”

“You speak in riddles, brother,” Thorin said. “It explains nothing.”

“It’s a short, but rather complicated story,” Finn said. “We do not mean to dodge questions, but we have two others we must ensure are all right and were able to--.”

“I am fine, dwarf,” Vanessë said as she approached them, Thranduil just behind. “It warms me to know you care so.” If she weren’t a stoic elf, one would almost think her voice was laced with amusement.

Finn narrowed his eyes a bit, huffing at the dark-haired elf, dimples forming in his cheeks as he suppressed a smile. Despite the tension earlier when they waited to be returned, he had grown fond of the elf after almost three-quarters of a century together as they waited.

“What of Thyra?” Frerin questioned.

Vanessë shook her head. “I am uncertain. The last I saw her, she was off to find her husband and children,” she said. “After finding Thranduil, we came straight here because Legolas and Tau…” She looked at Thranduil.

“Tauriel,” he supplied.

“Tauriel were headed here,” Vanessë finished. She saw Kíli straighten.

“Tauriel was headed here?” he questioned.

Finn glanced at his son, blonde brow arching. “So what we saw was true then?” he asked. Kíli glanced at the dwarrow he had never gotten a chance to know. He saw no censure in his father’s gaze, nor did he see any in his Uncle Frerin’s eyes when he glanced at him. He wished he could say the same for Thorin and Dwalin when he looked at them. Though it was more skeptical wariness than censure.

“I don’t know what you…” Kíli started to say.

“Kíli!” He spun as the very she-elf that Vanessë had been speaking of could be seen hurrying down the stone steps and across the ice. His feet began moving towards her before he even realized he wanted to move.

“Figures,” Dwalin said. “After seeing him flirting with the elves in Rivendell, I can’t say this surprises me.”

“Our Ones do not know lines between races, my friend,” Finn said, his gaze fondly sliding to his eldest. “As you will soon know.” Fíli could only frown at his father.

“Amad?” Vanessë slowly turned at the disbelieving tone to look at her son.

“ _Ai ohtar_ ,” was all she said. None of the dwarves thought elves capable of tears, until they saw Legolas rush towards his mother and crush her in a hug. They saw the silver tracks on his cheeks before he was burying his face against her shoulder as she ran slender fingers through his long hair in a soothing manner.

Finn turned to look at his son, smiling as he saw him come closer. Fíli hesitated as he reached his hand up, but then he also launched forward to hug his father tight. Finn felt his son’s shuddering breath as he hugged him. Pulling back, he pressed his forehead against Fíli’s.

“I am proud of you, my boy,” he said. “My lionheart. You have grown into the dwarf I knew I would be proud of. The moment your amad put you in my arms, I knew you’d be a strong dwarf and leader.”

“I know not how this is possible, but I care not,” Fíli said. “You are here!” The two men felt another body hit them as Kíli joined them.

“My wolf-pup,” Finn said, shifting to put his arm around his other son. “Mahal, I never thought I’d finally get to do this. No matter what the Valar had told us.”

“Who is this Thyra you mentioned?” Dwalin asked as Thorin embraced his brother.

“A human woman,” Finn said, pulling back from his sons. “She is the one who died too soon, but it’s still only been about eleven years since she did. I believe her husband was one that the Master of Laketown often tormented.”

“Bard’s wife?” Thorin asked, stepping back from Frerin. “That is the only one who I can think of that would fit the description of being tormented."

“Aye,” Vanessë said. “His name is Bard. When we were left in Dale, I believe she heard him calling to her children. I remember hearing a male’s voice telling Sigrid and Bain to get down. It prompted her to attempt to grab a human sword, but I gave her an elven blade instead.”

“Sigrid?” Fíli asked. “That is Bard’s eldest daughter.”

“Then shall we leave this accursed mountaintop and head back to Dale to seek out this Thyra?” Thranduil suggested. “Then we can hear this short, complicated story I overheard the dwarf bringing up before showing concern for my wife and this human female.”

“Might be a good idea,” Frerin said, ignoring Thranduil’s tone. “It will give us a chance to ensure everyone is safe as well. Plus this is a story that is definitely going to need food, ale, and wine. Three things that I’ve missed for the past seventy or so years.”

Thorin put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Always thinking with your stomach, brother. Good to know death hasn’t changed that.”

**Author's Note:**

> It was pointed out to me that I had that it was 142 years that Frerin and Finn had been waiting, yet both Fíli and Kíli are not even 100 years yet. I realized I had done my math based on book canon, and not my headcanon/movie canon since they cast Thorin younger for the movies. So I have updated that they have been waiting 77 years. So Kíli was either a newborn/only a few months old or not born yet when his father and uncle died.


End file.
